


We Know What's In Room 101

by Gaku_chan



Category: 1984 - George Orwell
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaku_chan/pseuds/Gaku_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>O'Brien has been looking for a change.  Winston Smith may be just the man he was hoping for.</p><p>//edit: Chinese translation can be found here (http://www.movietvslash.com/thread-128238-1-1.html) thanks to the lovely Kimgeas!  =)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Know What's In Room 101

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a small creative writing project thingy in English...O'Brien and Winston are so gay oh my god i'ts practically canon (except that Winston loves Julia too oops). It's not very good tbh but I hope any fellow Orwell fans will enjoy it!

A loud scream echoed through the empty, whitewashed corridors of the Ministry of Love.  It was the cry of a man in true pain, one who was currently having his humanity and reason stripped from him, easily mistaken for the wailing of a mere animal.

_“Winston, how many fingers am I holding up?”_

_“F-four…”_

Another cry resounded, followed by the creaking of the torture device upon which the degraded man lay.

_“Winston, I thought you would do better than this.  So tell me, why do you resist?”_

The only response was a quiet whimper.

~

In the beginning it had been a mad rush of emotion, flags, and speeches.  Each day brought a new sense of freedom and equality to the revolutionaries, who, with a great deal of effort, were succeeding in changing the world.  With the bright young individuals who made up the party, what could go wrong?  No corruption could be found there, not like the greasy old capitalists with their silk-lined pockets and top hats.  Indeed, O’Brien had believed that the Party was the future.  That was all before the system really set in, before the Thought Police were created, before Doublethink came into play.  Slowly, he watched as the paradise around him crumbled.  His own hard work became the thing that haunted him at night when he tried to sleep, ghosts of those he crushed coming back to haunt him in every dark corner.  Power.  That was what one needed to survive in a place such as this, and luckily for him, O’Brien was one the leaders.  However, O’Brien could sense how truly powerless he was to stop the fire he had helped ignite.  All he could do was go along with it in the hopes that one day, something would change.

~

_“Winston Smith.”_

O’Brien read the name aloud from the long list of perpetrators, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.  Wasn’t this the man who he saw at work?  Yes, Smith was one of the “history changers,” those who rewrote records to make the Party always be right.  Although they had never spoken, O’Brien often noticed Winston staring at him, an intelligent gleam evident in the man’s eyes.  Once, during the Two Minutes of Hate, O’Brien had felt a hand brush against his own, and turned to find Winston standing there, a small smile creeping across his face as he looked straight ahead to the poster of Big Brother.  Did he have any idea how dangerous that was?  It didn’t matter, the deed was done, and O’Brien felt a strange warmth spreading from the spot their hands had met.  Honestly, O’Brien wasn’t surprised to find Winston on the list, but that didn’t stop him from clutching the paper tightly, wrinkling it.

“Doubleplusgood, O’Brien?”His comrade, Murphy, muttered, casting a wary look in his direction.

_“Doubleplusgood.”_

~

It was definitely a shock to see Winston come to his office with a girl.  Not that O’Brien didn’t know about the sex, it had all been on the report, but he was still rather surprised that Winston claimed to be in love with that woman.  Putting on his best act of a nonchalant traitor, he offered the couple wine, then plunged into his pre-written speech about the evils of the Party.  This was all routine for him.  All just made up facts and accusations to tell the rebels, but then again, it could be true.  Even O’Brien wasn’t sure at this point.  

“You are prepared to give your lives?”

“Yes.”

“You are prepared to commit murder?”

“Yes.”

O’Brien cringed as Winston and the woman mechanically agreed to whatever act of violence he asked of them.  This was all part of the plan, so he shouldn’t be feeling an empty feeling in his chest...right?  Without really thinking, he added his own question to the end of the list.

“You are prepared, the two of you, to separate and never see one another again?”

“No!”

It was the girl that spoke this time, a fierce look coming onto her face as she squeezed Winston’s hand.  Winston was silent, his eyes flitting to meet O’Brien’s before finally murmuring, “No.”

“You did well to tell me.  It is necessary for us to know everything,”  O’Brien replied, face settling back into the well-practiced cold expression he usually wore.  What had he been expecting?  Some sort of miracle?  No, Winston was the same as the dozens of lovers that had sat in the very same seats and mindlessly agreed to acts of treason without for a moment questioning the reality of what they were saying.  How could he really have allowed himself to believe that Winston could be the change he was hoping for?  This was just another man, another helplessly foolish, gullible traitor for O’Brien to punish.  

But it was in that moment, as he looked into Winston’s tired yet determined eyes, that O’Brien realized something.  Something that would change his entire world.  

He cared about Winston Smith.

~

In reality, the fact that O’Brien cared about Winston didn’t change a damn thing.  Smith was caught, beaten, and dragged to the Ministry of Love just as any other criminal.  There was nothing O’Brien could do to stop it.  Even so, O’Brien requested that he be the one to help “cure” Winston.  Maybe, just maybe, he could save him.  Although faint, the flicker of hope still danced before his eyes, tempting him to take this risk.  I’ll help you, I’ll save you.

~

O’Brien approached Winston’s cell, mind racing with escape plans, fear, and hope.  He paused before the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.  Winston jumped to his feet, his face filled with shock.

“They’ve got you too!” he cried, eyes widening with horror.

“They got me a long time ago,” said O’Brien with a mild, almost regretful irony.  He stepped inside, followed closely by an armed guard.

“You knew this, Winston,” O’Brien murmured, voice soft.  “Don’t deceive yourself.  You did know it-you have always known it.”

Recognition flashed in Winston’s eyes, followed by a look of despair.  The guard then proceeded to hit him, beat him down until he was a writhing mess on the tiled floor.  Procedure.  It always came first.  O’Brien sucked in another deep breath as he watched Winston cry out, powerless to provide even the slightest bit of comfort.

~

“Wrong, Winston!  The Party seeks to help you, make you better.  You are insane, and you need treatment.  Don’t resist.”

Winston’s eyes glazed over with confusion, a small cry escaping his lips as pain coursed through his limbs.  The door opened with a groan, and Murphy stepped in, clipboard clutched to his chest.  

“How is 6079 Smith W fairing, O’Brien?”  Murphy asked in his thin, whiny voice.  “Is he almost ready for the full cure?”

“Yes, he’ll be ready soon,” O’Brien said, casting a glance at the pale body on the wrack before him.

“Don’t forget to follow procedure, comrade,” the weasel-like Murphy stated, eyebrow raised ever so slightly, suspicion evident in his eyes.

“Of course, brother.”  O’Brien forced his face into a grin.

“Then you’ll be needing this,” Murphy hissed, handing him a gun.  The weight of the weapon seemed far too heavy, it’s metal cold and glinting in the dim lamplight of the cell.  O’Brien’s heart stopped for a moment as he looked back into Murphy’s eyes.  He knew.  He must have known from the moment O’Brien muttered Winston’s name during work.  Thought criminal.  Murphy smirked, thin lips drawing into sickly line on his otherwise passive face.

“See you soon, comrade,” the man said, door closing behind him with a small click.  The threat was evident.  Next time they met, O’Brien would be fastened into the very mechanism upon which Winston lay.

“T-two...plus two...equals,” Winston whimpered, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to remember what came next.  The noise startled O’Brien, who had been staring at the now-closed door, filled with terror of what was to come.

“What does that equal, Winston?  Two plus two?” His voice was soft, ragged with fear.

“I...I don’t know.  I don’t know anymore.  What does it equal, b-brother?” Winston’s eyes opened slowly and he turned his head to look at O’Brien, tears dampening his cheeks.  O’Brien felt the bile rise in his throat at that look.  The look of a dog, begging it’s master for the pain to end.  What had he done?  

“Winston...I…” The torturer was suddenly at a loss for words.  He should do it.  Shoot Winston now, end the pain.  It’s what the man wanted… And yet, O’Brien found himself unable to point the gun at the wretched creature’s body.

“No.  You know what it is, don’t you?”  A sudden ferocity lit O’Brien’s face, and he leaned over, face only a few inches above Winston’s.  He didn’t care anymore.  He was already dead, as far as the Party was concerned.

“Two. Plus. Two. Equals. _Four_ ,” he breathed out, searching the man’s face for some recognition of that fact.  He found it in Winston’s eyes, which wavered uncertainly before lighting up with acknowledgement.

“Yes, four!” Winston whispered, voice cracking at the familiarity and truth of the equation.   

A small smile spread across O’Brien’s face.  Winston remembered.  No, it was more than that, Winston _knew_.  

“Four…” he murmured, before leaning in to press a small kiss to the other man’s lips.  This was it.  The end.  And O’Brien was ready.

~

A loud scream echoed through the empty, whitewashed corridors of the Ministry of Love.  It was the cry of a man in true pain, one who was currently having his humanity and reason stripped from him, easily mistaken for the wailing of a mere animal.  

_“You let him escape?!  You let him go?!  Thoughtcriminal! Sexcriminal! You know exactly what you did, O’Brien!”_

The pain was unbearable.  He couldn’t...he couldn’t remember… For a moment, the memories came back to him.  Winston…  He was safe now... But then there was more pain, and it was painful to think, painful to exist.  Winston was safe now.  That was all that mattered.  And then hands were grabbing him and dragging him across the floor.  His blood stained the pure white tiles.  

_“You know what’s in Room 101.”_


End file.
